


SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone, Part III: "You Can't Save Everybody"

by PJPaz



Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Korriban (Star Wars), Ord Mantell, Sith Code, Tython
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJPaz/pseuds/PJPaz
Summary: Part Three. Padawan Canlyn Dessan takes it on herself to track down a Twi'lek hunter corrupted by a dark Jedi's teachings, even as the Council worries about the possibility of new attacks.  Meanwhile, a Republic Trooper and a smuggler find themselves navigating the treacherous terrain of a world on the brink of civil war...
Series: SWTOR: A Chronicle of Blood and Bone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821745
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Thieves and Revolutionaries

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction series is an attempt to combine all eight of the class stories from EA/Bioware's "Star Wars: The Old Republic" into a single narrative. I am doing this without particular regard for official canon or timelines – My goal is not to create a definitive article, but simply to fashion the best overarching story I can from the parts Bioware already created. Those who have played the game will observe changes from the source material.
> 
> This series directly follows the story/stories of the game itself… So consider that a spoiler warning if you haven’t played it. Though I have endeavored not to directly transcribe anything from Wookiepiedia, this work remains indebted to that site for background lore referenced within the story. Further, much material is directly re-used from "Star Wars: The Old Republic" and its ancillary material. That said, I will not bind myself to either the “correct lore” or the exact characters and events of the game if it conflicts with what I regard as the best direction for my story.
> 
> There won’t be any particular schedule for updates, as this project is being done “for fun” around other work and projects. Each update, when it is posted, will be treated as if it was an “episode” of an ongoing series – When an update appears, it will have its own internal narrative structure, so each update will have a degree of resolution in itself.
> 
> The standard disclaimers apply: All Star Wars material is property of Walt Disney and Lucasfilm. Star Wars: The Old Republic is a property of BioWare and EA. This is all just for fun; no copyright infringement is intended.

**A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY…**

STAR WARS

The Old Republic – Episode Three

_“YOU CAN’T SAVE EVERYBODY”_

Anarchy rules in the frontier systems. While

the GALACTIC REPUBLIC struggles to

recover from its conflict with the SITH

EMPIRE, reckless mercenaries make their

fortunes from the interstellar turmoil.

On the planet ORD MANTELL, civil war

erupts between loyal Republic citizens and

violent separatists. Republic forces struggle

to restore peace to the war-ravaged world,

while free traders find opportunities to

exploit the chaos for profit.

Now a daring captain-for-hire has come to

deliver a cargo of weapons to the combat

zone, flying a swift freighter through a

barrage of separatist attacks…

“Why would anyone fight over this dump?”

Mira Kahl emerged from the _Siren_ and to take her first real look at the planet’s surface. The so-called “bright jewel” of the Republic. To her, it looked like a ball of dirt and dust.

“Same reason anyone fights over anything. Because there’s money to be made.”

The first thing she noted about the man greeting her was the tattoo that covered the left half of his face. The second was the swagger with which he held himself. The man was lean, handsome in a sleazy way, and to his credit owned it.

“You must be Skavak,” she said, extending her hand. “Viidu told me to expect you.”

Skavak took her hand with a grin. She had to snatch it away to stop him from lifting it to his lips.

He gave an elaborate bow instead. “It’s a pleasure to meet the legendary Mirana Kahl.”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Some legend.”

“Oh, come on! You were there when the Empire came to Korriban. You flew the Jedi Grandmaster right through the Imperial invasion force.”

“She wasn’t the Jedi Grandmaster then,” Mira told him. “Just a scared girl, running for her life. We all were. We lived, thanks to the _Siren_ here, but there’s not much glory in that. Not much profit, either.”

She heard fighting in the distance. The separatists were getting bold, if they were coming this close to the Fort.

Skavak read her expression. “The Republic’s losing ground,” he confirmed. “At the start, the people here just thought of the separatists as troublemakers and crazy people. The Republic promised to stamp them out in a week. That was six months ago, and with each passing week more and more people start sympathizing with those troublemakers. If the Senate doesn’t send a proper force in, we’re going to lose this planet.”

Mira scoffed. “The Senate actually do anything?” 

Skavak laughed in agreement.

“I’d have loved seeing Viidu again,” she said, “but I don’t fancy hanging around a war zone.”

“Gotcha,” Skavak replied. “Viidu’s already transferred your payment. You can take off just as soon as we’ve offloaded these blasters.”

Mira winced as he identified this as a weapons run. “ _Cargo_ ,” she emphasized. You could never be sure who might be listening.

Skavak shrugged. “The cargo, right. With your permission?” He jerked his head toward her ship.

“Be my guest.”

He turned to go up the _Siren_ ’s entry ramp. She followed him, showing him the hidden compartments holding the crates of weapons.

They had only unloaded the first two boxes when a heavily muscled young man came running into the hangar, his eyes as wild as his hair.

“Skavak! Skavak!”

“Whoa, Corso,” Skavak raises his hands in a calming motion. “Slow down, big guy. Use your words.”

Corso gasped for breath.

“The separatists,” he said. “They’ve taken control of the air cannon, hijacked the targeting computer. I just saw an incoming Republic transport go down!”

Skavak’s expression grew serious.

“They can turn that firepower against us anytime they want,” he said. “Bad news for you too, captain. You can forget about taking off. The separatists will blast you right out of the sky.”

Mira let out a cry of pure frustration. Trapped on this backwater rock, with some type of guerrilla force closing in?

“Not going to happen,” she snapped. “Tell me exactly where the targeting computer is.”

***

Sergeant Cress Va'shann, newly promoted and newly transferred to HAVOC Squad, had been on Ord Mantell for less than an hour. He already didn't like it.

There was nothing wrong with the company, he had to admit. He had been met at the landing zone by Lieutenant Bex Kolos, a beefy man with greeted him with a friendly smile.

“Welcome to the bantha pile, kid,” Kolos said. “Hope you weren’t looking forward to a chance to ease in. We’re in the middle of a situation.”

Cress could hear the sound of blaster fire. It was growing closer. “I’m noticing that, Lieutenant."

“Call me Gearbox. Everybody does.” The big man led him to a Republic Walker. “At least we’re traveling in style,” he said with a grin.

As the Walker transported them, Cress could hear the gunfire surrounding them. Every so often, there was a light “thunk” as the Walker’s armor deflected it. Gearbox was unconcerned. “It’ll take a lot more than blasters to pierce this thing’s armor,” he grunted. 

He brought Cress up to speed.

“According to the Senate, the seps are just a band of discontents – a handful of farmers who got riled up by outside agitators. In case you haven’t figured it out, that’s bantha dung. The separatists are everywhere. When a local smiles at you and sells you snacks or trinkets – Odds are better than 50/50 that if they aren't a sep themselves, they know some seps.”

“So it’s a mess.”

“Yup,” Gearbox said. “We’re damned whatever we do. We don’t act, separatist bombs go off and the people hate us for doing nothing. We track down separatists in the towns and villages, we end up arresting friends and family, and people hate us for that. No matter what, we're the bad guys – Which is exactly what the seps want.”

“You said there was a situation,” Cress pointed out. “I’m guessing you weren’t talking about the quagmire. What happened?”

Gearbox grunted. “Seps downed a Republic transport just before you landed,” he said. “Nabbed a bomb. A serious bomb, one of those orbital strike numbers. It goes off, this whole island ends up being one big crater.”

Cress was incredulous. “How could separatists have gotten that kind of hardware? How could they have downed a transport to begin with?”

“Like I said,” Gearbox replied. “There’s a lot more to this than just angry farmers. The commander’ll give a full op briefing once we reach Fort Garnik. Until then, just sit back and enjoy – ”

There was an explosion. The Walker stopped dead, and the metal walls and floor shook around the two men.

The Walker’s PA activated, and the driver’s panicked voice called out: “Code Red! Code Red! We’ve been hit by an AP missile! A shoulder-launcher from somewhere in the village! Hold on, I’m reading a weapons lock – ”

Another explosion. The metal around them groaned for several seconds. Then the Walker collapsed to the ground.

Cress covered his head to protect it from potential impact. His shoulder struck metal. It hurt, but he was uninjured. Gearbox, however, struck his head. He was struggling to stand when Cress reached him.

“Stay down,” Cress told him. “You could have a concussion.”

Gearbox grunted in frustration. “Backwater separatists aren’t supposed to have armor-piercing missiles,” he snapped. “They’ll tear up every convoy that passes through.”

“How did Intel miss this?” Cress wondered.

Gearbox let out a short laugh. “I’ll be sure to file a complaint, if we live long enough to see the Fort.”

Gearbox tried to raise the base on his wrist communicator. No luck.

“They’re jamming us,” he said. “Probably also from inside that village. We’ve gotta get in there. Disable the jammers so we can talk to Fort Garnik. They’ll have to be in the village square – The communications antennas are the only things that would send a signal over this distance.” 

He tried to rise again. His dark skin took on a greenish tint, and he sat right back down again.

“You stay here,” Cress told him. “I’ll get into that village a lot more easily on my own.”

Gearbox nodded ruefully. “Sorry, kid.”

Cress grinned sardonically at him.

“Like Captain Tavus said – ‘Welcome to HAVOC Squad.’ ”

***

A squadron had already been deployed to the village, but they had immediately become stuck at the perimeter. Rules of engagement meant the Troopers could only fire upon targets that were definitely armed and hostile, which meant that going in with heavy weapons was strictly forbidden. Meanwhile, the separatists rained fire on the troops from behind cover.

“Completely FUBAR,” the squadron’s sergeant complained to Cress. “We’re reduced to taking potshots when one of the seps is stupid enough to wander out from cover.”

Thankfully, the separatists lacked training and marksmanship, and the Troopers had been able to improvise cover and avoid casualties. It remained an untenable situation, though.

“If I don’t get new orders that let me actually do something,” the sergeant said, “I’m going to order my soldiers back. I’m not risking their lives for no reason.”

Cress asked the sergeant for a distraction – a brief attempted assault on one of the settlement’s low walls. “Just enough to draw their attention for a few minutes,” he said. “Enough to let me slip past the perimeter.”

“I can’t send anyone in after you,” the sergeant warned.

“Understood.”

The sergeant was happy at the prospect of actually accomplishing something, and quickly assigned a half dozen of his men to stage an assault on the east wall. Just a few explosive grenades and a bit of fire aimed directly at the wall. Enough to make noise, but not enough to risk any believable claim of “civilian casualties.” 

As soon as he heard the grenades, Cress vaulted the west wall, opposite the diversion. He landed on a concrete street - directly on his bruised shoulder, of course. He grunted at the pain, but still rolled back onto his feet in a single movement. He darted into cover between two buildings, and began picking his way toward the village square.

***

Mira’s eyes scanned the village square. The cannon was easy to find – She wasn’t exactly going to miss the giant gun that was firing at everything in the sky. But the gun itself wasn’t her goal.

_If I was a targeting computer, where would I be?_

She heard the Troopers’ pretend assault on the east wall. She recognized it as a feint. If the Republic soldiers were truly intent on breaching, they would roll up in armored vehicles and obliterate the wall, along with the structures adjoining it.

The diversion was useful, however. Most of the armed separatists ran toward the sounds. They only stayed put in one place - outside a building in the square.

_Gotcha._

She was considering her options for approaching. She could pretend to be a villager, but they would turn her away. A separatist would be a better disguise, but even these yokels would have some kind of password or entry code for anyone authorized to go near the computer. Then there was the question of what she would do once she got inside. She was hardly equipped to fight a war.

That’s when she saw the Trooper.

A Twi’lek, in full battle armor, moving around the edge of the square. His presence was doubtless the reason for all the noise at the opposite wall. Mira studied him as he darted from cover to cover, moving toward the antennas at each corner.

He planted something at his first target, then rolled away. An explosion engulfed it a moment later, and the antenna collapsed, bisecting a statue as it fell. _Jammers,_ she realized. The separatists were using the antennas to jam communications, crippling the Republic’s operations.

The separatists guarding the targeting computer stared, mouths agape, at the fallen antenna. They did not see the Trooper, who stayed carefully behind cover as he reached his second target.

He was exposed after the second one blew, however. The Trooper’s back was turned, and he did not notice as one separatist raised his blaster rifle and leveled it at his head.

***

Cress jumped when he heard the blaster. He turned, and saw a body collapse near a government building. Two other armed men were aiming their blasters – Not at him, but around the square, searching for an unseen target.

Another blaster bolt. Another man fell. Two more men spilled out of the building. They had found their target and were firing. Still not at Cress, but at a human woman.

She was trim, one side or another of forty, with close-cropped red hair. She was tucked in behind a concrete barrier, her expression clearly showing that she would have liked to have been anywhere else at all.

Cress pulled out his assault rifle. It hummed as it charged, then sprayed a gusher of blaster bolts. The men by the building collapsed.

He moved to the woman, who was trembling. “Are you hit?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Her voice shook, but she seemed coherent as she checked herself over. “Sorry. Not used to being under fire.”

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded. “Civilians should be in their homes, doors locked, under as much cover as possible.”

“Well, if I did all that, I wouldn’t have been able to save your life,” she retorted. “While you were setting your charges, those men were drawing down on you.”

Cress was startled. He had been careful to stay behind cover. He gauged the government building, however. At an angle, a few feet from the door, he would have been visible. And there was a corpse right at the ideal spot.

“Mira Kahl,” the woman introduced herself. “My ship is grounded because of that big gun. Want to help me take it down?”

Cress hesitated. “How do I know you’re not a separatist?”

The sound of activity told them the remaining separatists were coming back their way.

“You’d be dead if I was,” she pointed out. “And I think we’re running out of time for arguments. Give me the explosives and cover me while I blow those last antennas. Then we’ll take care of the gun.”

Cress handed her the explosives. She flashed him a grin, then disappeared into the smoke as he charged his assault rifle, waiting for new targets.

The rest of the plan went like clockwork. It took Mira a little over a minute to blow the remaining antennas, while Cress and his assault rifle held the separatists at bay. They reunited at the entrance to the building. Cress threw a grenade inside. He didn’t activate it; he just used it to flush out the separatists still in hiding. He and Mira picked them off as they fled into the open. Then he calmly recovered the grenade and clipped it back to his belt.

He watched the entrance as Mira went in search of the targeting computer. She found it upstairs, in a secure room marked by a sign stating, “RESTRICTED ACCESS." A panel limited access to card holders. She shot the panel, then pulled a knife out of her pocket and stripped the wires inside. She connected a black and green wire, smiling with satisfaction as the door clicked open.

She had no idea how to deactivate the cannon’s targeting computer, and from the sound of Cress’s assault rifle, she guessed they had limited time to act. She raised her blaster and shot the computer repeatedly until every one of its lights went dead. Based on the silence from the cannon, she guessed that had done the trick.

She returned to the entrance, flashing a grin to the soldier.

“Let’s move,” she said.

The smoke from the explosions in the square helped obscure their movements. Mira followed Cress’s lead in staying behind cover. They worked their way to the west wall, where Cress helped her over before vaulting over himself.

The Republic sergeant met them near the wall. He was grinning like a child opening a Life Day present.

“The seps are surrendering,” he crowed. “Apparently, they think a Republic army got inside.”

“We aim to please,” Mira said.

The sergeant looked at her, startled. Cress introduced her.

“She provided invaluable assistance,” he said.

She snorted. “I saved your big blue ass.”

“That too," he agreed. 

He punched up his wrist communicator. Gearbox's visage appeared.

“Good job with comms,” he told Cress. “I’m clearing out the Walker, spiking what I can’t carry so the seps won't use it on us later. I’ll meet you at Fort Garnik.”

“I should come back to you,” Cress protested. “Your head – ”

“I’ll be fine, kid. I’m not exactly new at this. The commander wants you at the Fort ASAP, and what he says, goes.” Gearbox disconnected.

Cress sighed, shrugged at Mira. “Want an escort to Fort Garnik?” 

She shook her head firmly.

“The only thing I want is to get on my ship and get off this rock.”

***

Cress escorted her back to the hangar. She did not argue. The experience of being pinned down by separatists left her quite content to be in the company of a man with a very big gun.

When she stepped inside, she knew immediately that something was wrong. She looked around, saw Corso lying on the ground. He was clutching his head, moaning pitifully. Skavak was nowhere to be seen.

A familiar sound came from outside. Engines starting. _The Siren_ ’s engines.

“No!” Mira shouted. 

She ran out of the building, toward her ship.

“No, no, no!”

The _Siren_ rose straight up into the sky. It hung in the air, almost seeming to mock her with its proximity. Then it took off, disappearing into the distance.

She ran back inside, where Cress was bandaging Corso’s head.

"Feels like a gundark used my head for a drum," Corso groaned.

“Just hard knock,” Cress told her. “No sign of brain injury, though a medic should check him out to be safe.”

“What happened?” Mira demanded.

“Skavak," Corso replied. "He had me load the weapons back on your ship. To keep them away from the seps, he said. Then, when my back was turned, he whacked me with a wrench!” He reached for his gunbelt. His hand froze as he found nothing. “Where’s Torchy?” he cried. “Skavak stole my blaster!”

“Forget your blaster!” Mira snapped. “The scum stole my ship!”

“Torchy’s a genuine BlasTech ALT-25, with magnatomic adhesion grip and side-mounted rangefinder!” Corso protested. He ran to the communications panel against the wall, jabbing buttons with fury.

“Come on!” he snapped. “Pick up, damn you!”

Skavak’s face appeared before them. He was in the _Siren_ ’s cockpit. His feet were up on the control panel, and he was grinning. “What’s the matter, Corso?” he sneered. “Did I hurt your feelings? Be grateful you’re still alive, meathead.”

Mira stepped into view.

“You are dead, Skavak,” she said flatly. “I will hunt you down and personally drop you into a black hole!”

Skavak laughed. “A lot of women want me dead, Captain. You'll just have to get in line.” He pulled his feet off the control panel and adopted an expression of exaggerated seriousness. “On behalf of Ord Mantell’s glorious freedom fighters, I would like to thank you for your blasters, for your ship, and – most of all – for a big laugh. Have a nice day.”

He gave them a friendly wave as he ended the call.

Corso sighed. “He always was good at making an exit."

Mira began to pace, pushing her brain to think of something to do next.

“Viidu,” she said at last. “He might know where Skavak went.”

“He’s at Fort Garnik,” Corso replied. “About a half hour’s hike from here.”

“Viidu’s operating out of a Republic military base?” Mira laughed in spite of herself.

“Your average Trooper would sell his grandmother for ten credits,” he said. Then he remembered Cress. “Ah, no offense, sergeant.”

Cress shrugged. “It’s true enough,” he admitted.

Mira smiled at the Trooper.

“So, Sergeant, about that escort. Is the offer still good?”


	2. Another Word for Tyranny

Three days had passed since the Flesh Raiders’ attack on the Jedi Outpost, and there had been no developments. 

Canlyn had returned the stolen holocron to Master Yuon, telling her of the device’s influence on Twi’lek hunter Nalen Raloch. She had also reported Nalen’s use of the Force to collapse the cave. Yuon had listened gravely and gone straight to the Jedi Council, vowing that they would have to recognize this as a vital matter. She had asked Canlyn to prepare to testify before the Council a second time.

No summons had been issued. Nothing had happened at all. In the days that had followed, Master Yuon shut herself off, devoting all of her time to studying the holocron and trying to unlock its secrets.

This weighed on Canlyn’s mind during her combat training. Master Caecinius observed her distraction, and asked her to remain after dismissing the rest of the class.

“You usually have perfect form and focus on the training grounds,” he said. “Today, you were downright sloppy.”

“I won my duel,” she pointed out.

“I’d expect that answer from Ashara, not you. Maybe the two of you have been spending too much time together.”

She apologized for her impertinence. Unexpectedly, the swordmaster smiled.

“A little impertinence from you is actually refreshing,” he said. “But something’s distracting you. Tell me.”

And so she did, telling him about the holocron. About how Nalen Ranoch had purchased it from Calief, the human who had directed the Flesh Raider attack, and how the hunter was now clearly under the sway of the long-dead Rajivari’s teachings. 

  
“So Calief stole the holocron during the attack,” Caecinius mused. “He must have sensed its nature.”

Canlyn nodded. “And when he ran into a Twi’lek merchant with latent Force potential and resentment against the Order…”

“He saw a chance to sow additional discord,” Caecinius concluded. “It may even have been the aim of the attack. There’s no chance he believed the Flesh Raiders posed a serious threat to us.” He frowned, continuing to mull over her report. “The Council clearly sees Calief as the greatest threat right now,” he said, “and I tend to agree. You and Ashara recovered the holocron, and this Twi’lek is only barely discovering his Force potential. He may create some mischief, but I doubt he can do any real damage.”

“ _Nalen_ ,” Canlyn said, stressing the Twi’lek’s name, “is a man driven by a need to protect his people. He is not a villain. He’s discovering his Force potential under the influence of the Dark Side. If we do not stop him soon, he may be forever lost.”

Caecinius sighed. “Canlyn, the galaxy is full of harsh realities, and this is one of the harshest: Even a Jedi can’t save everyone.”

“I realize that. But it does not follow that we should refuse to save _anyone_.”

He had no response to that.

“Thank you for listening to me, Master Caecinius,” she said, with a formal bow. “I should find my Master. I wish you luck in your search for Calief.”

***

She found Master Yuon in her chambers, working with the holocron. The old woman looked drawn and tired. Qyzen Fess, her Trandoshan friend, was with her.

“Yuon is soft thing,” Qyzen was telling her. “Old soft thing. Do not overexcite.”

Yuon looked indignant. “Overexcite?” she demanded. “I’m not quite ready to – ” She broke off as she noticed Calyn. “Ah, Padawan, how pleasant to see you!”

“I agree with Qyzen, Master,” Canlyn said by way of greeting. “You must rest.”

“There will time for rest soon enough,” Yuon replied. “I’ve discovered more messages. Rajivari discussing Dark Side philosophy, using anger to strengthen Force techniques.”

“Nalen’s lessons,” Canlyn surmised.

“An unfortunate first exposure to the Force,” Yuon groused. “We need to lock this data away, for study by only the most dedicated Masters.”

Canlyn was more focused on the immediate issue. “For Nalen, these messages have been his only guidance. He was obviously unstable. I know the Council is focusing its energies on Calief, but I believe it is just as important to find Nalen.”

She felt nervous saying this. She wasn’t actually advocating going against the Council. Still, she worried how her words would be interpreted. She knew what Master Orgus would say: _“So you believe you know better than the High Council, do you?”_ She could actually hear the scorn in his voice.

So it was a great relief when Yuon replied, “I agree. There are no current leads to Calief’s whereabouts, but I have found something that may help to locate him. Let me show it to you.”

Yuon placed the holocron into a projector, then focused her energies on it. The image of a figure filled the room: Rajivari.

The image did not meet Canlyn’s expectations of the first Fallen Jedi. He was not disfigured, his flesh was not corrupted, he did not speak in a rasp. Instead, she saw simply an old man – bald, heavily wrinkled. He spoke brusquely, but his voice was not unpleasant, and his manner was belied by a gentleness in his eyes.

“Activation protocol begins,” Rajivari said. “If you have accessed this message, then you have started on the true path of the Force. It is clear by this point that my efforts have fallen short. The Jedi Order will be dominated by the tyranny of the Light.”

Grief shone in his eyes. This was probably his final message. How many of his disciples had he seen fall? Canlyn could not condone anything the man had done, but she still felt compassion for his losses.

“I have left true wisdom behind,” Rajivari continued. “Bring the light of my teachings to the sanctum where the First Blade points. All else is fleeting. Restore balance, at all costs. Message ends.”

The old man’s image vanished.

“He is not what I expected,” Canlyn said.

“History says he was a great teacher,” Yuon told her. “What made him so dangerous was that he truly believed he was right, and was able to convince many students of his beliefs. He came perilously close to shifting our entire order to Darkness.”

Canlyn bowed her head, mourning for a moment the loss of such a mind, even if it had been millennia ago.

“I believe he is speaking of the Fount of Rajivari,” Yuon continued. “After he fell, there were rumors that he had left behind an archive of his knowledge and teachings. The Jedi scoured the Nine Temples for it, found nothing. Generations of Jedi continued to search, following any scraps of rumor they could grasp. Gradually, all reputable scholars came to regard the Fount as a hoax.”

“Nalen Ranoch saw this hologram?” Canlyn asked.

Yuon nodded. “It had been accessed, quite recently.”

“He is untrained and unstable. More of Rajivari’s knowledge could make him incredibly dangerous.”

If Master Yuon heard her, she gave no sign. She was deep in thought, working at Rajivari’s message like she might at a puzzle box.

“ ‘Bring the light of my teachings to the sanctum,’ ” she mused. “Kaleth?” She looked up at Canlyn. “Kaleth was the Temple of Knowledge, and Rajivari prized knowledge above all. The name ‘Kaleth’ means ‘sanctum.’ The message must point to those ruins.”

“To ‘the sanctum where the First Blade points,’ ” Canlyn noted. “That sounds like a specific location.”

Yuon nodded. “The old library. Rajivari valued knowledge above all.” Her Master opened the holoprojector and removed the holocron, extending the crystal to Canlyn. “You will need this, I think."

Canlyn could still feel the darkness from the crystal, and took an involuntary step back.

“I sense it too, Padawan," Yuon said in a reassuring tone. "But Rajivari clearly says, ‘Bring the light of my teachings to the sanctum.’ What else could he mean, other than his holocron?”

She held it out again to Canlyn. When the padawan accepted the holocron, she felt as if she was touching Darkness incarnate.

***

Ashara saw Canlyn leaving the training grounds. She waved at her friend and dashed over.

“Where are you headed?” she asked.

“The ruins of Kaleth,” Canlyn replied. “Master Yuon found a clue in the holocron. With any luck, we can follow the trail to Nalen Raloch.”

“Want some company?”

“Do you not have your own assignments?”

Ashara gave an exaggerated yawn. “Master Ryen wants me to practice balancing bigger rocks on top of smaller ones. He says it will teach me focus. Mostly, what I'm learning is how boring rocks are.”

“It sounds like your time is already accounted for.”

Ashara grinned. “He said to practice balancing rocks, he didn’t say where. I can play with stones along the path.”

Canlyn hesitated. Technically, Ashara was correct – But her Master would still be displeased.

“Tell me you can’t use my help,” Ashara pressed her.

Canlyn sighed. “I would be glad of your help, and your company,” she admitted. “You will practice with the rocks?”

Her friend raised her right hand. “On my honor as a Padawan.”

To Ashara’s credit, she did spend the first half hour of the hike balancing rocks in midair. She quickly became bored, however, and her attention turned to chatting. Specifically, to complaining about the makeup of the Council.

“Grandmaster Shan is a human,” Ashara said. “So is Master Orgus. And Master Syo. And Master Jaeric, and Master Wens. That’s almost half the Council!”

“Master Kiwiks is a Togruta, like you,” Canlyn pointed out. “Satele Shan’s predecessor, Grandmaster Zym, was a Kel Dor.”

“Yes. But there is _one_ Togruta on the Council. There is _one_ Nautolan. Right now, there are _five_ humans. Tell me that isn’t evidence of pro-human bias, Lyn.”

“Many non-human Masters were killed on Coruscant,” Canlyn replied. “The Council is chosen from the wisest Masters, those with the greatest strength in the Force.”

“Council members are chosen by the Council,” Ashara countered. “Humans dominate the Council. You read history. Once humans have gained influence, when have they ever let go of it?”

“We are Jedi first, our respective species second. I would add, Togruta are regularly members of the Council. Cathar are not. If either of us should be bothered, surely it should be me.”

“Yeah, right. Like you’re not going to be on the Council someday.”

Canlyn shot her friend a shocked look.

“What?” Ashara said. “You’re, like, the perfect Jedi. Always calm, always in control, totally analytical, super strong in the Force. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how much your teachers single you out for attention. Even Master Caecinius, and he doesn’t even like you! They’re grooming you, Lyn.”

“I doubt that,” Canlyn replied. “But if you’re correct, that would argue against your theory of pro-human bias, wouldn’t it?”

***

The Temple of Knowledge at Kaleth had once been an enormous stone structure with four tall spires reaching up to the sky. But the Force Wars had engulfed Tython thousands of years ago. The Order had abandoned the planet, and its nine temples had fallen to ruin. Master Yuon had spent much of the last twenty years excavating the ruins, finding and restoring lost knowledge of the Jedi’s origins.

The library was in the southwest tower. Little remained of the spire beyond some moss-covered stone walls. But Yuon’s excavations had uncovered a sealed entrance to an underground chamber. Within that chamber, many ancient texts and artifacts had survived more or less unscathed. 

It was here that the Jedi had recovered the holocrons of the original Masters. It was here that Master Yuon believed Rajivari’s secrets waited.

Canlyn and Ashara systematically searched the chamber, seeking some hidden spot at which to insert the crystal. If it was meant to be placed within a book, Canlyn reflected, then they would never find it without additional clues. The library was vast, the texts stored there seemingly infinite.

Ashara pointed to an ancient holoprojector. Unlike modern projectors, this was bulky, practically a block pedestal. But like many of the surrounding marvels, it still functioned, powered by crystals that had not decayed.

“We could try putting it in there,” Ashara suggested.

“Be serious,” Canlyn replied.

“I am.” Her friend seemed hurt. “It’s a place in the library where the holocron will fit, isn’t it? And it would have been here during Rajivari’s time, wouldn’t it have? Just because it's the obvious answer doesn't mean it's wrong” She shrugged. “If nothing else, you can play the message back. Maybe it’ll give us another clue.”

Canlyn glanced about the chamber. She had to acknowledge that replaying the message had merit. They weren’t likely to find anything simply by poking around the walls.

“Very well,” she said. She inserted the crystal, and the projector came to life. Rajivari’s image stood before them.

What came up first was his default message, the one string of data that had not been hidden.

“The Jedi Code is important, but it and all of our teachings should be treated as guidelines, not as dogma. It is noble to preserve peace… But not at the cost of standing by while the innocent suffer. It is critical to enforce justice… But without judgment or compassion, ‘justice’ can become another word for tyranny. Every life has value, and we are all diminished when a life is cut short prematurely.”

Ashara’s breath caught as she watched the kindly old man deliver his message. Canlyn tested the interactivity of Rajivari’s surface message.

"What of the greater good?” she asked him. “What if the Jedi are moving in the wrong direction, and setting things to right requires violence?”

Rajivari’s image flickered as the holocron found a suitable response.

“Every individual life is unique and valuable,” he told her. “It might be necessary to sacrifice one life for the sake of many, but this should never be done lightly. To value a dry code or philosophy over any life? I call that what it is: Evil. Message ends.”

The hologram flickered out.

“ _That’s_ the first Dark Jedi?” Ashara said.

“He is not what you would expect,” Canlyn acknowledged. “At the very least, it is clear how he was able to influence so many.”

She focused her mind on the holocron, trying to locate its hidden messages. She focused on the First Blade, hoping the term would trigger the message she had viewed in Yuon’s quarters.

It was a different message that appeared.

“The First Blade,” Rajivari said. “From this beginning, lightsabers came. In a galaxy of chaos, Jedi must be more than philosophers. We must be warriors, as well. My peers are good men and women, but they are blind. They fear emotion as a child fears the dark. They cling to dogmas like a blanket, all the while arguing for mediocrity and weakness.”

His tone was regretful, but his bearing was strong and confident.

“I have laid my plans,” Rajivari continued. “With my followers, I will purge this council. Only my apprentices and I will survive. It is a painful sacrifice, but necessary for the sake of an ordered galaxy. From Kaleth, we will begin anew, and will mold the Jedi into what we need to be. If we failed, then it falls to you, seeker, to take up my work. Take up the First Blade. Follow the path to the Fount of Rajivari. It is time.”

The message flickers out.

Ashara snorts. “So much for the value of individual life."

Canlyn felt saddened. For the sake of his own dogma, Rajivari had become guilty of the very thing he warned against - and judging from the recording, he had never even realized the contradiction.

They heard a click. A compartment opened in the base of the projector. Canlyn knelt down. Inside the compartment, perfectly sealed against the ages, was the hilt of a lightsaber.

“The hilt of the First Blade,” she breathed.

She hefted it in her hand. It was solid, with more weight that modern lightsaber hilts. In a way, that solidity lent it a more tangible sensation. To wield this blade would be to feel every blow and parry, to become one with the weapon.

Runes were inscribed in the hilt. Very old, too old for Canlyn to decipher. However, she could guess their nature.

“Coordinates.”

Ashara started to say something, then froze.

“What is it?” Canlyn asked.

Ashara’s Togruta montrals were picking up movement.

“We’re not alone,” she told Canlyn.

She turned. Canlyn looked in the direction of her friend’s gaze, her cat-like eyes piercing the shadows. Three Twi’lek had entered the library, concealing themselves in the darkness. Two men, one woman. Seeing that they had been detected, they stepped forward, the woman in the lead.

“You were at the Festival,” Ashara said. “At Kalikori Village. Allia, right?”

“Yes,” Allia acknowledged, clearly surprised that Ashara remembered her name. “Please don’t make this hard, Jedi.” 

She was definitely the one in charge. The two men hung back, allowing her to do the talking, waiting to follow her lead.

“Nalen said you would be coming here,” Allia told them. “He said to wait for you. He needs to find this ‘Fount of Rajivari’ to keep defending our village.”

Canlyn sensed hesitance. The Twi’leks could have attacked while she and Ashara had been focused on the hologram, might have even had a chance at overpowering them, but they had not. They were loyal to Nalen, but they had doubts.

Ashara sensed this too, and stepped forward.

“We met Nalen at his camp the night of the Festival,” she said. She spoke directly to Allia, ignoring the men. “He didn’t seem like he really had it together.”

“He seemed unwell,” Canlyn agreed.

She expected Allia to become angry, to rush to Nalen’s defense. Instead, she and the other Twi’leks exchanged uneasy glances.

“You don’t understand,” Allia said. “We’re all… We’re scared.” She glanced down at the floor, seeming ashamed of the admission. “Nalen barely comes to the village anymore. He barely eats or sleeps. When he talks, his eyes…” She shuddered faintly. “His eyes are strange.”

Canlyn stepped forward, past Ashara. “We can’t give Nalen what he wants,” she said. “But if we find him, we’ll do what we can for him. I promise that.”

Allia looked on the verge of tears. 

“Something terrible’s happening, isn’t it?” she asked. “Please – don’t hurt Nalen. Whatever he’s doing, it’s for us. Or at least, it started that way.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Canlyn repeated, making no promises.

Allia turned to go, then wheeled back, anger flashing in her eyes.

“You and your cursed Jedi artifacts!” she snapped. “I wish you had never come to Tython – any of you!”

Canlyn stood in place, bowed her head. Accepted the woman’s anger.

Allia’s fury drained away as quickly as it came. “Help him,” she pleaded.

Then she was gone.


	3. The Cost of War

The separatists were in disarray after their defeat at the village. This left Mira, Cress, and Corso with an uneventful trip to Fort Garnik.

“How did this get started, anyway?” Mira asked.

“I just got here myself,” Cress replied. 

“The Treaty of Coruscant," Corso interjected. The other two looked over at him, surprised he had spoken up. "I was born here," he said, a defensive note in his voice. "I don't like the seps, not even a little bit. But the Treaty rubbed a lot of folks the wrong way, particularly when the Empire abandoned its promises and the Senate just let them do it."

He wasn’t wrong. Mira remembered the way the galaxy had changed overnight. Some politicians had signed a document, and immediately entire worlds with thriving Republic populations were suddenly a part of the newly reformed Sith Empire. Their people were given no choice in whether to stay or leave. Billions of lives, changed forever – and thousands of families with relatives on those worlds left to wonder at their loved ones’ fates.

“It’s all just a game to the politicians,” Corso went on. “They don’t care about us, or this planet. They just don’t want to have to say they lost it.”

When they reached the Fort, Mira extended a hand to bid Cress farewell. The sergeant hesitated when he reached out to shake.

“Would you like to grab a drink later?” he asked. “There’s gotta be a canteen around here somewhere.”

Mira smiled crookedly. “A little old for you, aren’t I?”

Cress shrugged. “Maybe I like older women.”

She laughed. “Work on your pickup lines, Sergeant. Anyway, you’re not my type.”

“Not big on the blue? Or is it the uniform?”

“Perfectly fine by both,” she replied. “Let’s just say I like a little more seasoning.”

She left him near the Republic barracks, and went in search of Viidu. With any luck, she could be off this rock and on the _Siren_ ’s trail by nightfall.

***

Cress asked directions to HAVOC Squad's location. The squad was operating out of a small bunker. When Cress entered, he saw several soldiers gathered around a holographic map of the area.

Captain Tavus saw him enter. 

"Sergeant," he said with a nod. They exchanged a salute, then Tavus grinned at him. “Great to finally have some new blood in the unit. Let me introduce you to the group. My second-in-command, Captain Zora, is HAVOC’s infiltration and assassination specialist.”

Zora was a slender Marialan. Cress could not help but notice that she was extremely pretty, though the tribal markings across her cheeks and forehead lent a fierceness to her slim form.

“They call me Wraith, Sergeant.” She flicked her eyes over his form. Neither eyes nor voice gave any indication as to her first impression of him.

Tavus indicated the youngest member of the group, a Zabrak male who was one side or another of twenty. 

“This is Fuse,” Tavus said. “Lieutenant Vanto Bazren. Don’t let his baby face fool you – Fuse is an expert with every type of explosive in the known galaxy.”

“Ah, yes,” Fuse said, seeming nervous. “It’s good to meet you, Sergeant, good to meet you!”

“Do you always say everything twice?” Cress asked.

Fuse laughed, a high-pitched and nervous sound. “No! No!”

“And this is Needles.” The last man stepped forward. A wiry cyborg, a human with cybernetic implants attached to his face and body. “He’s a medical genius, and an expert with stims and adrenals.”

Needles bowed, giving a thin smile. “It is my honor to help you to perform at your very best,” he declared.

Cress disliked him instantly. He tended to avoid adrenals as a rule, believed they should be banned outright. He had seen too many good men rendered into twitching shells of themselves from side effects and addictions. In addition, there was something about Needles that felt… off. Cress decided he would trust himself to the base’s general medic.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said aloud.

Tavus turned back to the map, his grin vanishing. “Now, as to the mission. A Republic transport, carrying among its cargo a ZR-57 Orbital Strike Bomb, crashed in northern Avilatan. Recovery units sent a team, but they were too late. Separatist forces had already stolen the transport’s cargo, including the ZR-57.”

“Gearbox said it was serious hardware,” Cress said. “Exactly what are this bomb’s capabilities, sir?”

Fuse stepped forward. “The ZR-57 can pretty much vaporize the whole island,” he said, his previous nervousness gone as he spoke about the explosive. “If we don’t get it back before the separatists try to use it… Well, ‘boom!’ ” He made a gesture with his hands to mimic an explosion.

“We’re investigating several leads to the bomb’s location,” Tavus said. “I’ve already given the rest of the squad their assignments, and I’m taking one myself. As for you, sergeant…”

Tavus looked up as a Cathar lieutenant entered.

“Well, I’m going to leave Lieutenant Jorgan to fill you in on your task,” he said.

The Cathar stepped forward. “Lieutenant Aric Jorgan, Operations, Ord Mantell Infantry Command,” he said briskly, addressing the entire group. “It is my job to coordinate your activities from this mission room. I’ll be overseeing your op through the cameras mounted on your armor. The cameras activate the instant you leave this room. What you see, I see.”

Jorgan glared at Cress. “Let me make this clear, Poster Boy. When you’re in the field, what I say goes.”

“This is not my first posting,” Cress replied.

Jorgan’s glare only intensified. “I don’t care how many Senators know your name. The other members of HAVOC have distinguished themselves a dozen times over. Right now, I look at you and I see a publicity stunt. Prove me wrong - Do your job and don’t screw up. Period.”

Cress straightened, a parade-ground attention. “And what would my job be, sir?” he barked.

Jorgan was not amused.

“A Republic spy named Bellis turned up dead, killed about an hour after the transport was hit. We’ve relocated his wife and belongings to the base, but his field box is not here. Get his wife to tell you the location of the field box, retrieve it, bring the Intel back here.”

Jorgan’s cat-like features amplified his sneer. “Think you can handle that, Poster Boy?” he asked.

“Sir, yes, sir!” Cress said. “Permission to get started, sir!”

“Belay the attitude,” Jorgan snapped. 

Cress stood in place, waiting. After a moment, Jorgan sighed his irritation.

“Dismissed!”

***

Bellis’ wife and son had been relocated to bare soldiers’ quarters. The boy was outside, playing with a couple of NCOs. He clearly had no clue what was happening, and was just enjoying the attention and the adventure of being on base.

The wife understood all too well, however, and she was bitter. Cress couldn’t particularly blame her.

“He risked his life every day for you, and for what?” she snapped. “ ‘The thanks of a grateful Republic?’ ”

“I promise, you and your son will be cared for – ”

“Behind the walls of a Fort? Or off-world? I won’t be able to stay here. Even if you defeat the separatists, we’ll forever be the family of a spy.”

There was nothing Cress could say that could make her feel better. His best course was to just move on to the information.

“A lot of innocent lives are on the line,” he told her. “We need your husband’s field box.”

“I keep telling you people, I don’t have it!” she shouted. “The soldiers bundled us out so quickly, there wasn’t time to collect anything!”

“But you know where it is,” Cress said. “Just tell me, and I’ll go to the village to collect it. Your husband gave his life to get that information. Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

From her face, he knew he almost had her. And if he was going to their home anyway…

“Look, maybe I can collect a few personal items while I’m there, help you make these quarters feel more like home.”

She sniffed, nodded. “There are some pictures,” she said. “And maybe a few of Yorik’s toys. He has a toy soldier set, I know he’d miss that.”

Cress nodded. “I’ll make sure to bring it.”

“If it’s still there,” she complained. “If the separatists don’t get it, the refugees will.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” he said. “I doubt anything will have gone this quickly. Now, where did your husband keep his field box?”

She told him. A secret compartment in the floorboard beneath their bed frame. He thanked her, then headed out, back to the village where he had been fighting just over an hour earlier.

Jorgan talked to him as he walked.

“There’s no easy way to handle those interactions,” the lieutenant said. “You can say the right words, but they’ll never make someone feel better.”

“Not my first time doing that either, Lieutenant.”

After the slave intercept, Cress had personally visited the families of each of the fallen men from his squadron. Some spouses, a few siblings. Mostly parents. Some had cried. Most had just stared blankly, as if struggling to absorb the news.

“I’m saying you did well, Sergeant!” Jorgan snapped. “Take the damn compliment.”

***

He had no difficulty finding the dead agent’s house. In the wake of the morning’s battle, Republic troops were back in full control of the small village. 

The troops were going house to house, searching for any sign of separatist sympathizers. Locals in possession of the wrong holovids or pamphlets were taken into custody. Most would be cleared and released within a few days; others, who had problematic contacts, might be in custody longer. Add in some looting, a sad inevitability, and local sympathies would be driven further toward the separatists – But what alternative was there? 

Cress entered Bellis’ cottage. It was small, just two bedrooms and a living room. He took a moment to quickly clear the bedrooms, finding no one in either of them. Then he went to the master bedroom, and found the field box hidden exactly as Mrs. Bellis had described.

The box secured, Cress turned his attention to keeping his promise. He located both print photographs and holos of the family, and carefully placed each of them inside his tote bag. He noticed an expensive dress in the closet. Likely a gift from her husband, which the man would have had to save up to afford. She might not be thinking about it now, but he knew that she would want it later. He folded it with care, added it to the bag.

When he went into the child’s room to find the toys, he heard a noise. The closet, which he had neglected to look inside. A rookie mistake, which he knew Jorgan would have made note of. He drew his blaster, cursing himself for being an idiot.

He stepped to the side of the closet door, flung it open.

Two small children stared back at him. They were dirty and looked malnourished. One boy held a plastic spaceship in his hand. The other’s hands were empty; he had dropped the ship he had been playing with – the source of the sound.

“Are you going to shoot us?” the older boy asked. He didn’t sound scared. His voice, like his face, just reflected a weary resignation.

Cress holstered his blaster. 

“I’m not here to shoot anybody,” he told them. “Where are your parents?”

He realized the answer to that question even as the words left him. They were dead - from the look of the boys, weeks before the battle that had consumed the small village this morning.

“I’m taking you back with me,” he announced.

“We don’t wanna go to no refugee center,” the boy said. “I seen the kids there. We’re better off here.”

Cress ignored the protest and insisted the boys come with him. They waited mutely while he gathered up the toy soldier set. But the second they left the house and were in open air, the children ran off, scattering in different directions.

Jorgan’s voice sounded in his ear.

“You won’t catch them, Sergeant. And we can’t risk losing that field box. I understand what you’re feeling, but you need to come back to base now.”

He knew the lieutenant was right, but he still hesitated.

“You came for the field box, you got it,” Jorgan said. “It was a successful mission.”

But the only thing Cress felt as he started back for Fort Garnik was a sense of absolute defeat.


	4. The King of Cargo

Mira had known Viidu for close to fifteen years. He was a big man, not just in girth but in manner. Every emotion, every gesture was grand and expansive. Even his self-styled title was larger-than-life: “The King of Cargo.” Catch him on a good day, and he would greet you with hugs and champagne, loudly toasting to the health of your entire family. Catch him on a bad day, and he would be inconsolably morose, frequently drunk, and often in tears.

Today was not a good day.

Corso showed her to Viidu’s office, but she’d have found it just fine on her own. The opera music was a dead giveaway. Corso waited outside while she poked her head into the room.

Viidu sat in a couch beside a much younger woman. He wept openly as the music played, while the woman stroked his arm reassuringly. A wine bottle was open, and already half-empty.

He saw Mira, rose to give her a hug. “You never age,” he declared. “If anything, you look better than you did on Nar Shadaa.”

“Liar,” she kissed his cheek, then let him collapse into the couch again.

He indicated the woman beside him. “This is Syreena, the light of my life.”

Syreena extended a hand and smiled warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” 

Viidu offered a glass of his wine. Mira accepted, and he rose his glass in toast.

“Here’s to a few of my favorite things,” he declared. “To the best collection of artworks and exotic beverages in the whole system. And to the stupid separatists that destroyed it all.”

He drank.

“The warehouse was burned to the ground in this morning’s fighting,” Syreena informed Mira.

“Burned to ash!” Viidu cried. “Between the seps and that backstabbing Skavak, I am ruined!”

Another drink.

“Go easy,” Mira said. “We can figure this out, but you need to at least try to keep a clear head.”

Viidu laughed. “Figure it out? The blasters Skavak stole - Those belonged to Rogun the Butcher!”

Mira shrugged. “Never heard of him. Am I supposed to be petrified because he calls himself ‘The Butcher?’ Sounds like I should have him pick out some good flank steak.”

Syreena laughed, but Viidu didn’t even crack a smile.

“Syreena, would you please wait outside?” he asked. 

The young woman withdrew without protest. Viidu didn’t continue speaking until the door was firmly shut, leaving him alone with Mira.

“Rogun keeps a low profile, but he is serious business. He’s killed enough people to fill a convoy of bulk freighters, and he is utterly unforgiving.”

“Why would you even do business with someone like that?” Mira asked. “You and me, we’ve kept going for all these years precisely because we don’t mess with those people.”

Viidu shook his head. “The money was too good,” he said. More tears rolled down his jowly cheeks. “I’m getting old, Mira. I want to retire, settle down with Syreena and let her use me for my money. I don’t want to run liquor, mining equipment, and bootleg holovids until I’m 70. But I’ve blown it!”

He buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Mira knew better than to interrupt him. When he was in a self-pitying mood, the best thing to do was let it run its course. She excused herself, closing the door behind her. 

Syreena was waiting in the hall, leaning against the opposite wall. She looked worried.

“I can’t say I’m surprised about Skavak," she said. "I told Viidu not to trust him.” She took a step toward Mira. “I know it’s bad when he sends me out of the room. How serious is it?"

“Serious enough,” Mira admitted. “But every problem has a solution. I don’t know this Rogun, but I’m guessing all he wants is what he thinks is due him, and maybe a little profit. He gets that, he’s got no reason to come after Viidu or any of the rest of us.”

“Without the warehouse, we can’t just make up the value of the blasters.”

“Then we need to find Skavak, my ship, and those blasters, and we need to do it fast.”

Mira looked over Syreena, sizing her up. Viidu had always liked smart women, and her intelligence was clear. Whatever else she did for him, Mira was certain that she actively helped with the business as well.

“You knew Skavak well enough not to like him,” Mira said. “He has the blasters, he has my ship. If you’re Skavak, what do you do next?”

Syreena pursed her lips, thinking. 

“Skavak was working with the seps, right?” she asked. 

Mira nodded. "That's what it looks like, at least."

“I’m no expert on the separatists," Syreena said. "But I know someone who is. Reki.” She shuddered slightly as she said the name. “Total sleaze, worse than Skavak, but he is loyal to Viidu. He might be able to turn up a lead.”

It was thin, but it was better than hanging around Fort Garnik watching Viidu drink and cry.

“Where do I find him?”

“Well, there’s one problem.”

Mira sighed. Of course there was.

“Reki’s in Talloran Village,” Syreena said. “Caught behind a Republic blockade while they ‘contain’ the separatists there.”

“Translation: The seps control the village.”

“Pretty much.”

“Can you get me past the blockade?” Mira asked. 

“What about the seps?”

Mira shrugged. “I’m not a soldier, so they shouldn’t have anything against me. I can take care of myself if some ‘Big Man’ decides he wants to pick a fight. But I’m not taking on Republic soldiers.”

Syreena smiled. “I like you, Captain,” she said. “Viidu knows everybody. I’m sure he could make some calls, get them to let you through.”

“Not the way he is now,” Mira complained.

“Leave that to me.”

Mira followed the younger woman as she strode confidently back into Viidu's office. The big man was still crying. He had emptied his glass, and reached for the bottle to refill it.

Syreena swiped the bottle away. “Time to stop being an overgrown baby,” she snapped. 

Viidu looked stunned.

“Reki,” Syreena said, practically shouting the name in his face. “Reki might know where Skavak’s going with those blasters, right?”

Viidu looked longingly at the bottle.

“I’ll pour it out right onto this carpet,” Syreena warned. She started to tip the bottle.

Viidu sighed. “Reki’s been in with the seps since this whole business started,” he said. “If anyone knows, he would.”

Mira stepped into Viidu’s line of vision.

“Can you get me past the Republic blockade?” she asked.

Viidu nodded again. “The blockade’s commanded by Lem Toker. He has a fascination with the planet Voss. I’ve managed to get him a few holos from some of the people who have been allowed to visit there.”

When something pierced one of Viidu's bad moods, it was like flipping a switch. He jumped from morose to manic, with no stops in between. This was what happened now, as he burst into a wide grin.

“Of course!” he bellowed. “We get the blasters back, get Rogun what we promised him, throw in a bit extra for the trouble, that should smooth things over! Brilliant!”

He reached out to Syreena and yanked her to him, planting a kiss right on her lips.

“I’ll call Lem right now,” he announced to Mira. “You get down to Talloran.”

“I still need to know where I’m going,” Mira pointed out.

Viidu waved that away as a meaningless detail. “Syreena can tell you the route, and where to find Reki once you’re there.”

Syreena led Mira back out into the hallway, giving her the directions. Meanwhile, a re-energized Viidu turned to his holocommunicator, punching in the code to talk to his Republic contact.

***

Reki wasn’t exactly suffering in squalor. He and his crew, clearly separatists themselves, had converted the upper floor of a giant warehouse into luxury living space. Reki had a personal apartment in one corner, with walls reinforced with Corellian steel to withstand any potential potshots.

His apartment wasn’t exactly private living space, though it was clear all of the man’s guests were there by invitation. A half dozen young women, all particularly attractive, lounged around the apartment. They were in various stages of undress. Some sat on the floor, some in the chairs scattered about the room. Two waited in the bed. 

“This conflict has created many widows and orphans,” Reki explained. “I... look after these charming ladies.”

Mira noted the vacant expressions on the young women’s faces. Some were drugged, she wagered, but others likely were just numb from the situation in which they had found themselves.

Reki was a middle-aged man, who maintained a stubble that he likely believed stylish – in the same way he doubtless believed there was something irresistible about his partially unbuttoned tunic and the gold and silver chains that surrounded his neck. Mira would have enjoyed throttling him with them.

“What about the ones who aren’t quite as ‘charming’ as these?” she asked pointedly.

Reki shrugged. “My men share in my charity."

“Oh, I’ll bet they do.”

As disgusting as she found the situation, however, Mira was no crusader. And even if she was inclined to lead a parade of women back to Fort Garnik, she doubted Reki and his friends would just stand by and let her. She did her best to ignore the pitiful young women, turning to the business at hand.

“Viidu needs information about a separatist sympathizer named Skavak,” she said. 

Reki scratched his stubble as he thought.

“Mannett Point,” he said after a moment. 

“What where?”

“Mannett Point,” he repeated. “When the separatists truly gained strength, it was their first target. The Republic used it for ordnance and munitions. We – ah, the separatists, that is – took control, destroyed the bridge connecting it to Avilatan. It’s basically the base of operations now. The ‘Pubs have tried to take it back, but it’s a fortress.”

He laughed, not even bothering to conceal how pleased he was about that. “Anyway,” he said, “Individual personnel records, those that exist, would be there.”

“Great,” Mira replied. “Inside a fortress the Republic hasn’t been able to take back. That's very helpful.”

“All the security systems are looking for ships, either on the water or the air. As long as you can swim, you should have no problem slipping past the defenses.”

“OK,” Mira said. “Then what?”

“Well,” Reki said, “I kept detailed schematics of every maintenance passage and tunnel on the island. They would take you right to the main computer.” He gave a short, embarrassed cough. “Unfortunately, I had to abandon them. I had a small… ah, disagreement with a separatist commander, and had to leave quite abruptly.”

Mira suppressed a frustrated howl.

“Lost schematics aren’t much good to me,” she said. “Or to Viidu.”

“Oh, they’re not lost. I’m sure they’re exactly where I left them. You see, when I left, I short-circuited the door to my home and made sure all entrances were sealed shut. With active security systems in place. Lethal security systems.”

“And you’ll tell me how to get past those.”

“Naturally.” Reki winked, and Mira tried to keep her skin from crawling. “Once inside, you will find the schematics disguised as an extraordinarily tedious treatise on bird watching. Don’t worry – I used a fairly simple code. If you have any recording equipment, I advise activating it. You _really_ don’t want me to go through this more than once.”

Reki was not exaggerating the tedium of his code. It revolved around the names of specific waterfowl, cross-referenced with regions on Ord Mantell. By the third reference of the Mantellian flutterplume, Mira’s eyes were as glazed over as those of the other women in the room.

Reki himself seemed enthused by the topic. Mira hoped he never tortured these poor women by lecturing them, but suspected he was too much of an egotist to refrain from demonstrating his brilliance.

“That,” she declared when he finished at long last, “is the most sadistic way to hide information that I have ever heard.”

“Then you haven’t lived, Captain.”

He leered, his eyes flicking up and down her body. She may have been older than his preferences, but he was happy enough to indulge in mentally undressing her.

If it wasn’t for all the heavily armed men outside, it would have given her great delight to shoot him. With very precise aim.


	5. A Loyal Citizen of the Republic

There was a sense of almost religious devotion in the way Master Yuon gingerly handled the hilt of the First Blade. As Canlyn and Ashara waited, she just looked at the hilt, turning it slowly over in her hands.

“The folds in the metal,” Yuon breathed. “These are lost techniques. There’s an art here, beyond the mere functionality of the lightsabers we forge today. It’s not just a tool, but an expression of the forger’s being. Our lightsabers began here, with this.”

Canlyn felt suitably humbled at having delivered it. “It’s incredible to be in the presence of something so old and influential."

Qyzen and Ashara exchanged a glance. It was clear that neither of them shared in the sense of awe.

“Please, no encouraging,” Qyzen said. “Already Yuon talks and talks of old things.”

Ashara laughed – earning her a hard stare from Yuon.

“Master Ryen was looking for you, Padawan Zavros. I believe I heard him musing on the potential benefits of corporal punishment.”

“I didn’t defy a single order,” Ashara protested. Still, she took the cue to leave.

Yuon gave a wry smile. “I like her,” she said.

She turned back to the hilt, bringing up a map of Tython on the holoprojector. She studied the decorations, and inputted data into the map. Qyzen and Canlyn waited patiently as Yuon processed the information, both of them knowing better than to interrupt her.

The coordinates on the hilt were ancient, and rendered in terms that were more symbolic than mathematic. Once Yuon understood that, it was an easy matter to match one coordinate to the eastern Tythos Ridge. Another coordinate was a Jedi symbol for wisdom, which both she and Canlyn agreed had to be the library at Kaleth.

“But that leaves this coordinate,” Yuon said, clearly frustrated. “We can’t triangulate the location of the Fount without it.”

The elusive coordinate did not match any Jedi symbol Canlyn had studied. It looked suspiciously like the result of the task Ashara’s Master had assigned – stones, with vertical lines drawn in front of them.

“A rock formation?” Canlyn wondered.

“Yes!”

It was Qyzen who had spoken, and he had done so with forcefulness. The two turned to him, startled by his certainty.

“Lines are for waterfall,” he said. “Have seen like formations on hunt.”

“Possible,” Yuon acknowledged.

Qyzen was already walking toward the door.

“Will scout waterfall caves,” he said. “Try to find.”

Canlyn halted him. “With two of us, the search would take half as long,” she offered.

“I know caves,” Qyzen said, declining her offer. “Is faster searching alone. Scorekeeper watch you.”

He left with a decisive stride. Canlyn had no doubt that he would not stop walking until he reached his destination.

***

Canlyn went to the mediation chambers. She needed to calm her mind, which reeled with the day’s activity. The sense of wonder in the recovery of the First Blade. The bizarrely sympathetic figure that was the first Fallen Jedi. Worry over Nalen, which had been intensified by Allia’s descriptions of his behavior. A Jedi must be calm, and she felt anything but.

Each meditation chamber was a plain white room, with a simple gray pattern laid out across the floor. Masters and Padawans alike would kneel in different places in the room, contemplating the pattern. Today, she chose to sit in the center, watching the lines expand from her to the corners of the chamber. Or did they move from the corners to her? Perhaps both were correct – like Force energy, moving from the world beyond into her, then returning from her back to the world.

The doors were sealed when a chamber was occupied. Meditation should be uninterrupted. So when she heard the door open, she knew that only a Master could have done so. 

Caecinius entered the room, alongside Master Syo. The Jedi’s greatest swordsman and one of the senior members of the Jedi Council. Both looked grave.

“You received a message,” Master Syo informed her. “Its contents are disturbing – ”

“I think the Padawan should see the message before we interpret it for her,” Caecinius said. Without waiting for Syo’s assent, he touched a button on his holotransmitter.

Nalen Raloch appeared before them. He looked even angrier than when Canlyn had seen him at his camp. His eyes were wild, even feral.

“Survival,” he rasped. “Mine. My villages. Yours, Jedi.” His voice lowered to a growl, and Canlyn’s fur rose instinctively. “You fooled my people. No matter. There are other routes to the Fount of Rajivari, and other guides.” He pointed his finger straight out at Canlyn. “If you interfere again, I will kill you.”

The image disappeared as the message ended.

“Nalen has truly fallen,” Master Syo said solemnly. “We must think of your safety, Padawan.”

“There must be a way to save him,” Canlyn protested. “To at least reason with him.”

“He may not give you the chance,” Caecinius said brusquely. “The look in his eyes? I saw a lot of that look during the Battle of Coruscant. He wants to kill you. If he gets the chance, he’ll enjoy it.”

Syo cleared his throat. “Some members of the Council have concerns about the current direction of your training. You are still a Padawan, not a Knight. You must not risk yourself.”

Canlyn bowed her head respectfully, but was not willing to let the matter rest. Nalen was on a dark path, and it was a stolen Jedi artifact that had placed him there.

“Is another Knight being assigned to find Nalen?” she asked.

Caecinius and Syo exchanged a glance.

“No,” Caecinius said flatly. 

“The Council is concerned about Nalen,” Syo interjected. “Still, the prevailing view remains that energies need to be focused on locating Calief. We are debating restricting all padawans to the Temple grounds until he is apprehended.”

Canlyn absorbed this, both the implications and the limitations of Syo's phrasing. “If there is still debate, then there has not yet been an agreement to put such an order in place,” she observed.

Syo seemed startled by her response. She thought she detected a hint of a smile from Caecinius.

“There is not,” Syo acknowledged tensely.

“Is the Council assigning me to a new Master?” she asked. “Or officially overriding any of Master Yuon’s assignments?”

Syo frowned. This was not how he had expected this conversation to proceed.

“No, Padawan,” he said. “But the central issue is your safety, the safety of all our students.”

_The central issue is the Order’s responsibility for the corruption of an innocent man!_ That was what she wanted to say. Instead, she stuck firmly to Jedi codes, rules, and principles.

“It is not a padawan’s place to question her Master’s instruction,” she said calmly. “If Master Yuon assigns me to locate the Fount of Rajivari, then I must do so to the best of my abilities and knowledge. Only the Council can override her. It would be highly inappropriate for me to attempt to do so.”

Caecinius was failing in his battle to suppress a smile. He turned away, raising a hand to his mouth to cover the expression.

Syo inclined his head. “You are correct, Padawan,” he said. “I apologize if this conversation appeared in any way unbefitting.”

Canlyn bowed her head to him. “It is always an honor to speak with a member of the Council,” she replied. Syo withdrew.

Caecinius remained behind.

“I give it one day before the Council puts that order in place,” he told her. “By this time tomorrow, no padawan will be allowed to set foot outside the Outpost.”

“In that case,” she said, “I will hope for swift developments.”

*******   
  


Though Mira Kahl did not find breaching Mannett Point’s perimeter to be as simple as Reki had indicated, it was still far from difficult. There were some perimeter alarms, but she had no trouble interrupting the circuit long enough to slip past. From there, she adopted her usual tactic when she was in places she wasn’t supposed to be. She moved confidently, nodding and waving at separatists who saw her. A few of them even waved back.

Reki’s directions were good, and Mira easily found his home. After a quick check to make sure she wasn't being watched, she inputted his code to gain entry.

The datapad containing the lecher’s treatise on the exotic birds of Ord Mantell was right on his desktop, boldly daring any intruder to pore through its tedious minutiae. Mira felt her eyes glaze over even glancing at the title: **_An Ornithological Dictum on the Avian Species of Ord Mantell, Volume 1 of 12_.**

_If I have to go through 12 of these,_ she vowed, _I am definitely going back to that warehouse and shooting him_.

She accessed the datapad’s core code as quickly as she could manage, doing her best to avoid accidentally reading anything. She entered his code exactly as he had told it to her.

The text vanished, replaced by detailed holographic schematics of the island. _He’s a pig, but at least he knows his stuff_. 

Reaching the central computer unobserved required her to crawl through a few ventilation ducts, which made her glad of her wiry figure. 

One of the rooms she crawled over was a large storage vault. She looked down out of curiosity – Then froze in place for several minutes.

The equipment below was far beyond what should have been left by the Republic garrison. From her restricted vantage point, she was able to make out armored land vehicles, including a full-sized Walker. That was only the beginning. Also visible were multiple air cannons, just like the one she had disabled that morning, and they looked ready to be put into operation. Crates were everywhere, and she had little doubt they were filled with weapons. From the looks of things, likely very advanced weapons.

There was no way the separatists had cobbled this together from Republic leftovers. 

Mira took a quick recording with her PADD, then forced herself to move on. She was here for a reason, and this discovery had not changed that.

***

She reached the central computer easily enough. All the separatists’ security was focused on potential attacks by sea or air vehicles, with very little internal security. Mira reflected that one good Republic infiltration team could probably retake this island single-handed.

She waited for the room to empty, then slipped out of the ventilation shaft. 

Unfortunately, a separatist was standing just outside her field of view. The man raised his blaster at her the instant she dropped to the floor.

“Stop right there, Republic scum!”

She raised her hands.

“Stopping,” she said. “This is a misunderstanding. I was cleaning the ventilation ducts. Check with Maintenance – My supervisor will vouch for me.”

The blaster wavered. He was at least considering her lie. 

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Jarak,” she said. She didn’t know whether there was a Jarak in Maintenance or not, but she was betting the guard didn’t know either.

She was right, and it seemed he had bought her lie. The blaster lowered as he started to touch a button on his wrist communicator.

In a single motion, she drew her own blaster and shot him square in the forehead. He didn't make a sound. She doubted that he had even seen the bolt coming.

She dragged the body quickly behind a wall, out of sight. She resisted the urge to run to the console. There was always the chance someone would enter. She just walked to it at a casual pace. _I belong here. I’m one of the separatists, aiming to throw off the yoke of Republic oppression. Honest._

She was no slicer, but two decades of experience had taught her some basics. She was able to sync up her PADD to the computer. She placed it inside her pocket, so that it would be invisible as she transferred personnel files to it.

If she was very lucky, she might be able to finish the transfer before anyone came in…

“Come on, 4-SEN. Say it like I taught you.”

_Blast!_

A young man entered with a droid. The droid dutifully parroted the requested phrases.

“The Republic lackeys will drown in lakes of fire and blood.” No inflection at all. The droid might have been reporting on light winds or reading Reki’s bird-watching treatise. “Death to all who oppose the people’s will.”

The young man noticed Mira.

“Hello,” he said. His tone was friendly. “You’re, uh, different than most of us true believers.”

Mira turned, giving the boy a lightly flirtatious smile. Hoping she wouldn’t have to kill him and disable his droid to get out of here.

“How is that?” she asked, cocking her head slightly.

The boy flushed. “Um… Different’s not a bad thing,” he clarified.

4-SEN interrupted.

“Master,” the droid said. “I detect the presence of a non-functioning human. Specifically, a body over there.” The droid indicated the wall behind which Mira had dragged the body. “Setting alert status red.”

Mira thought fast.

“By the stars!” she exclaimed to the young man, widening her eyes to mimic shock. “Republic scum have invaded our base!”

She thought she had overdone it a bit, but he bought it.

“4-SEN, activate combat protocols!” he snapped. “We’ve got to warn the others!”

The droid was less easily fooled. “Master, my sensors detect no evidence of hostile forces.”

Mira stepped forward, between the boy and his droid. “When was the last time you calibrated that droid’s sensors?” She forced her posture to stay relaxed, but mentally prepared to draw her weapon if the answer was “just this morning.”

Thankfully, it wasn’t.

“Not recently enough to take any chances,” the young man said firmly. “We need to put the base on alert and rally the men. Let’s go, 4-SEN! There’s no time to waste!” 

He all but raced out of the room. The droid sighed a beleaguered, “Yes, Master,” and followed.

Mira turned back to the computer. The data transfer was complete. She returned the computer to its home screen, then got out of there, making a beeline back to the safety of the ventilation ducts.

***

When she returned to Fort Garnik, she found Viidu eating an enormous meal with Syreena and a bemused Corso Riggs.

Viidu greeted her warmly, then indicated the spread.

“Help us finish this Roba steak. Don’t let this fine cut of meat go to waste.”

“Quit acting like that’s your last meal,” Syreena sighed. “Rogun the Butcher isn’t going to kill you.”

“Damn right he isn’t,” Corso echoed.

Viidu waved away their remarks. “Until I have Skavak and those blasters, I’m going to enjoy all the pleasures available to me,” he insisted.

“Well, I don’t have the blasters,” Mira said, “but I do have the seps’ personnel records.”

She passed her PADD to Viidu, who beamed at her. “Splendid!” he cried. “Corso, get on this right away!” 

He handed the PADD to Corso, who nodded and left the room.

Viidu glanced at Syreena, then gave Mira an embarrassed cough. “Would you mind leaving Syreena and I alone for a bit?” Apparently, there were still some pleasures he wanted to partake of.

“Hint taken,” Mira said. 

The steak did look good. She swiped a piece. “Don’t stay up too late, kids!” she called on her way out the door.

She found Corso downstairs, asked how long the decoding would take. He shrugged.

“Probably a couple hours."

A couple hours. Time enough to report her little discovery.

“Do you know where HAVOC squad is?” she asked.

"Sure. Viidu sometimes has me run underground supplies to Needles.” He gave her directions, then asked, "What's going on?"

She replied with a reassuring smile.

“Just something I need to take care of,” she said. “Y’know, as a loyal citizen of the Republic.”


	6. "All My Points, Forfeit"

The visit from Master Caecinius and Master Syo left Canlyn with a feeling of urgency. As soon as they had both left, she returned to Master Yuon. She felt equal parts anxious and determined. If the Council was on the brink of restricting padawans to the Outpost, then there was no time to waste.

She found Yuon, pacing the room anxiously.

“Is something wrong, Master?”

“It’s Qyzen!” Yuon exclaimed. “He hasn’t reported in. It’s not like him!”

It did not require a Jedi’s senses to see her worry.

“I could go the waterfall and search for him,” Canlyn offered. “Just to make sure he’s all right.”

Yuon nodded. “Thank you, Padawan.”

“I will contact you as soon as I reach the waterfall,” Canlyn promised.

***

It was dusk when she reached her destination. She sensed a presence in the shadows behind her. She spun, claws extending, ready for attack.

Ashara stepped out, an apologetic smile on her lips.

“Sorry, Lyn,” she said. “I saw you leaving with that determined look on your face, and I just had to follow. I should have known better than to try to sneak up on a cat.”

Canlyn relaxed, letting out a breath.

“Does your Master know where you are?” she asked.

Ashara shook her head. “Master Ryen was really mad about me going with you this morning. He couldn’t punish me. Like I said, I did exactly what he told me to do. But I don't think he'd be in the most receptive mood right now.”

Canlyn shook her head wearily. “You’re going to get yourself expelled if you keep this up." But in truth, she was happy at her friend’s company. It was already dark, and there was something ominous about the caves behind the waterfall. A darkness deeper than any night.

She shuddered.

“Do you sense it?” she asked Ashara.

Her friend shook her head. “Sorry.”

Canlyn led the way, following that sense of darkness into one of the lower cave mouths. She and Ashara moved as quietly as they could through the tunnel.

There was a dim light up ahead. They moved toward it, scanning with eyes and senses for signs of movement or presence. Canlyn saw nothing, except for an unguarded cage. She looked more closely.

Inside the cage was a dejected-looking Qyzen Fess.

“Small hunters,” he greeted them, his voice disconsolate. “You should not have come. Is only shame here.”

Canlyn looked for a way to unlock his cage. Ashara waved her back and, with a small device tucked inside her robe, was able to pick the lock.

“I’m sure you’re fully authorized to use that,” Canlyn observed.

Ashara shrugged. “No one told me I couldn’t have it.”

Canlyn turned to Qyzen. “What happened?”

“Nalen Raloch,” he replied. “He tracked and… captured. Used pain. Demanded answers about old thing, Yuon’s Fount of Rajivari.”

"Did Nalen hurt you?” Canlyn studied the Trandoshan, scanning him for injuries. “I can treat you.”

“Just pain,” Qyzen said. “Is nothing next to the shame.” He allowed the two young women to lead him out of the cage, but his steps were listless. “Was captured alive,” he said. “Is no greater dishonor. All my points, forfeit. Lifetime’s score, gone. I am nothing. Scorekeeper turns face away.”

“You’re still a person,” Ashara protested, “whether you have a ‘score’ or not.”

Qyzen shook his head. “Small hunters. Do not understand.”

Canlyn studied the cave floor. She still sensed the darkness, but it was more like a residue. A track.

“Yuon came,” Qyzen continued. “Brought hope. Risked all to get past Nalen, to ask for last coordinate to Fount of Rajivari.”

Canlyn stiffened at these words. “Master Yuon..." She cut herself off nervously, not wanting to increase Qyzen's shame. But there was no help for it. "My Master has not left the Temple."

The three of them went very silent, absorbing the implications. 

“Could Nalen have used a Force trick to appear as Yuon?” Ashara asked.

Canlyn shook her head. Such a trick was beyond her powers, and she had studied for years. Nalen was all but completely untrained. It was impossible.

Unless...

“Nalen said there were other guides,” she recalled. And Calief had not been located.

Qyzen followed the exchange between the two padawans. He might not have understood all, but he had grasped that he had been fooled. And he was angry. “Trickery?” His eyes filled with violence. “I will track and punish for this!”

Anger, the path to the Dark Side. Violence, the destination.

“I should report this to the Council,” Canlyn realized.

But Nalen did not only have the final coordinate - He also possessed a daunting head start.

Qyzen echoed her thoughts. “Nalen has all coordinates. Fount of Rajivari is his to find.”

There was no time to report to the Council. They had to move now.

“Tell me the final coordinate,” Canlyn said decisively. “We will talk with Yuon on the way.”

***

With Qyzen's coordinate, Yuon was able to quickly triangulate the Fount’s location. If the data was accurate, Rajivari’s store of knowledge was located in the Acropolis, the ruins of an ancient citadel located well south of the Jedi Outpost. Like the nine temples, it had fallen into ruin – but the structure had been so vast, a startling amount of it remained intact.

It would be quite the hike to get there. As they walked, Canlyn informed Yuon about the deception used against Qyzen. Her Master agreed that Nalen could not possess enough control over his Force powers to have done it.

“I believe he is working with Calief,” Canlyn said. “It’s the logical conclusion.”

“Which means this has become too dangerous for padawans,” Yuon replied. “You three should come back at once, and let an experienced team handle this.”

Canlyn disagreed.

“There is no time,” she argued. “If we are right, then Calief and Nalen have a head start on us. I don’t know what knowledge waits at the Fount, but if Calief wants it, then it can’t be good.”

Yuon accepted her judgment, but also said she would make an immediate report to the Council.

“I know there’s no point to asking you to wait for reinforcements before entering,” Yuon said, “so I won’t put you in the position of disobeying me. But be careful.” Then she looked at Ashara. “I expect Master Ryen will be most unhappy with you.”

Ashara laughed. “Master Ryen’s always unhappy with me. I’ll be fine.”

***

The next hour of hiking was in silence, the three focusing their energy on making up lost time. Qyzen seemed frustrated at the two women. It was clear he was having to slow down to allow them to keep pace. Still, he did not complain. His capture had blunted his pride too much for that.

As they neared the Acropolis, Yuon got back into contact.

“Look for an underground chamber in the structure’s northeast quadrant,” she advised.

“I just hope tons of rock didn’t collapse over it,” Ashara said.

“That would actually be for the good,” Canlyn countered. “However curious we may be about Rajivari’s knowledge, the important thing is to stop Nalen and Calief from accessing it. If it’s destroyed, then we have already won.”

They were not so fortunate. A search of the northeast quadrant revealed an underground entrance. Juding from the surrounding piles of debris, it had only just been uncovered.

“Less than two hours,” Qyzen assessed.

Canlyn felt those dark traces again, leading her in. She started for the entrance. Ashara stopped her with a touch on her shoulder. 

“Two hours, Lyn. They could still be in there. It’s not too late to wait, like Master Yuon wants.”

Canlyn disagreed. “Two hours is also long enough that they could have found what they were looking for and left,” she said. “That is not a chance I can take.”

Qyzen agreed to guard the entrance. “If I see Nalen, I will kill him,” he swore.

“Don’t kill him unless he forces you,” Canlyn ordered. “Whatever he has done, he is as much a victim here as anyone.”

Qyzen grumbled, but nodded his reluctant agreement.

***

The underground chamber was vast, with corridors leading out in various directions. Ashara stood in the center, turning, trying to sense any movement with her Togruta montrals.

“If anyone’s here, they’re masking it,” she said. She looked at all the corridors, several of which were collapsed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Canlyn knew. The dark trail beckoned her. 

“I can sense their steps,” she said. “I'll follow the trail, but I'll need you to watch out for me.”

“Always,” her friend said, without hesitation.

They proceeded down the east corridor. It came to a junction. The darkness continued to call. She turned left. Then right. Then another left.

“I hope you’re not counting on me to find the way out,” Ashara complained. Canlyn ignored her, all her senses focused on the dark path. 

They came to a chamber where the stone had been reinforced by layers of thick titanium. Made to survive bombardment and even the decay of millennia. The door was open, but it clearly had been sealed prior to today – There was not a hint of dust inside.

The walls were covered by computers and databanks, a repository of data that made Kaleth’s library look like a bookshelf in a youngling’s classroom. But what drew Canlyn’s eyes was the figure in the center.

A bald old man in a Jedi’s robe, whose shoulders slumped under a universe of burdens and whose eyes reflected untold sadness.

Rajivari.

“Of course, here is the other,” he said, returning her gaze. “Seekers of forbidden knowledge always have their pursuers.”

His form was translucent, but this was no hologram. Canlyn had heard of this phenomenon, though she had never thought to witness it.

Rajivari was a Force Ghost, as real and conscious as any living being.

“If you came for Nalen Raloch, he has been and gone,” Rajivari told her. “So much is fleeting, but I remain.”

“The Council struck you down thousands of years ago!” Canlyn protested, not quite trusting her own senses.

Ashara looked confused, and a bit worried. “Who are you talking to, Lyn? There’s no one there.”

Canlyn glanced at her, realized that her friend couldn’t see the figure before her.

“Would you please watch the corridor?” she asked. “In case Calief or Nalen are still here.”

Ashara gave her a look of concern, but agreed. “Whatever you need,” she said.

Canlyn turned back to Rajivari. The old man seemed to be amused. 

“Your friend is loyal,” he complimented her. “I had loyal apprentices once. All gone now.”

She approached him, resisted the urge to reach out to touch him. He smiled gently, clearly reading the temptation.

“It would be as touching air,” he said. “I exist only in the Living Force. Nothing corporeal remains.”

_There is no death_ , Canlyn recalled. _There is only The Force_.

He continued. “When my body failed me, I refused to become one with The Force. How could I? The Jedi were still imperfect. Here, in my laboratory, I refined certain devices. I could give one chosen apprentice decades of experience in a single hour. An apprentice, to become worthy to carry my vision. I believed Nalen Raloch was a suitable candidate.”

Clear regret in his voice now.

“A foolish choice,” he said, “born of the desperation of millennia. Nalen’s mind was sharp, but ultimately fragile. He is… changed.” 

“Nalen was already unstable,” Canlyn said. “And he is under the influence of men with evil intentions.”

“I should have recognized as much. I have made not a successor, but a monster. I wished to remake the Jedi. Nalen wishes to destroy them. Beginning with the Great Forge, where lightsabers are made.”

The Great Forge was where the first lightsabers had been created. It was not a traditional forge – no metalworking was involved. Instead, it was a place of Force energy, where crystals were combined with lightsaber casings to create the Jedi weapons. It was no longer the sole place for this; many locations with similar Force energy had been located over time. But the Forge retained a significance both historical and spiritual. Since the Jedi’s return to Tython, it had been made the padawan’s final test – a pilgrimage to the Forge to create the new Jedi’s first lightsaber.

“I know that the Jedi will retain the ability to create their weapons without the Forge,” Rajivari acknowledged. “But the Order would be weakened in ways that go beyond the utilitarian.” He fixed Canlyn with an urgent look. “Nalen doesn’t know its exact location, but you do. You can reach the Forge before he does. You can stop him.”

He noticed her practice blade, seemingly for the first time.

“That weapon will not suffice,” he said. “But you carry the hilt of the First Blade. An old friend.” He smiled, and again Canlyn was struck by how kindly he seemed. “A crystal from the Forge would power it, press it back into service as a working lightsaber. It is only fitting – The First Blade returning to battle at the Order’s time of need.”

“I am only a padawan,” Canlyn protested. “I'm not ready to craft a lightsaber.”

“You are ready,” Rajivari replied. “Trust an old Master to sense this. In any case, the situation demands it. You must stop this abomination my knowledge has created.”

Canlyn nodded. "Yes, Master Rajivari." She started to go. Then stopped, looking back at the old man. 

“Master Rajivari,” she said nervously. “You have held onto this existence for thousands of years. I can see the pain in you. Perhaps it is time to let go.”

Rajivari sighed, with a weariness Canlyn could not begin to conceive of. 

“Ah, child,” he said. “You see only what the Jedi _are_. I saw what they could have been. My colleagues wouldn’t listen. I spoke of strength, and they cowered. I spoke of a golden age, and they chattered about overstepping ourselves. Someday, the right acolyte will come to carry my burden.”

“But don’t you see?” Canlyn argued. “I watched your messages. You spoke of compassion, of the value of a single life. But then you spoke of killing, of destroying the Council, of destroying those students who did not follow you. Can you not see the contradiction?”

“Sacrifices were needed to strengthen the Order.”

_Sacrifices_. Like the Council’s willingness to sacrifice Nalen out of fear of a greater threat. Anger led to the Dark Side. Canlyn knew this. But she suddenly felt very angry, and unable to contain it.

“You _weakened_ the Order!” she shouted. “You sparked a civil war among the Jedi, a war that scars Tython to this day. In your messages, you spoke of a Tyranny of Light. But when the Council disagreed with you, instead of seeking a compromise, you sought to impose your will – to create a Tyranny of Darkness. Your students were the best and brightest of a generation of Jedi. They trusted you, and you sacrificed them all in a pointless crusade for your own glory!”

Rajivari flinched from her words. 

“My students,” he said. “They were like my own children. Gifted, loyal. I miss them so.” His shoulders slumped even further. Canlyn's anger disappeared, extinguished by the old man's anguish. 

“You speak of things I had set aside long ago,” Rajivari said. “Perhaps there is wisdom in your words.”

Canlyn stepped toward him, entreating him. “If you stay, you will never be more than an echo of the past,” she said. “If you let go, you will always be a Jedi.”

He mulled that over and released a weary sigh.

“I gave my dream to Nalen Raloch,” he said. “What I saw in turn was a horror. Perhaps… Perhaps it was always so. Please stop him. Correct my last mistake.”

Canlyn bowed her head. “I will do all I can,” she promised.

When she raised her head, Rajivari looked different. He stood straight, no longer slumped, and his eyes showed regret but no longer reflected pain. It was as if, a decision made, he had finally let go of his burden.

“You will succeed,” he said confidently. “You are proof, I think, that the Jedi did not lose their way after all.”

Rajivari clasped his hands together and bowed deeply. As he bowed, he disappeared gradually into blue smoke, which dissipated in the dead air of the chamber.

The old Jedi Master, the great teacher, the first Fallen Jedi… was gone.


	7. The First Sins

Mira’s attempt to report to HAVOC Squad almost failed at the entrance.

Several Republic Troops intercepted her. When she insisted she needed to see Cress Va’Shann of HAVOC Squad, they laughed at her. One beefy corporal looked her over, clearly appraising her.

“I work with Viidu,” she said, hoping that his influence would get her through, or at least get her back out unharmed.

The man just sneered. “I wouldn’t namedrop Viidu,” he said. “From what I hear, he might be on the way out.”

“Corporal Vicks!”

A voice called out. Mira turned, and recognized the sergeant from outside the village. Had it only been that morning?

The corporal and his men straightened as their sergeant approached.

“You helped us,” he said to her. “I’m sorry these men are repaying you so poorly.”

Mira shrugged. “I’ve handled worse,” she said, downplaying the encounter. There was no sense in making unnecessary enemies. 

“You need to report to HAVOC?” he asked. She nodded. “I’ll show you in.”

He took her back to a large room with a holographic map in the center. A mustached man wearing captain’s stripes – clearly the leader – was talking with a dour-looking Cathar lieutenant. Cress sat in the back of the room, resting even as he waited for someone to decide on his next order.

All eyes looked up as Mira entered. Cress stood, took a step toward her.

“This woman says she has important information,” the sergeant told them. “I know her – I’m inclined to believe her.”

He gave Mira a nod, then withdrew.

The captain was the first to speak. “I’m Harron Tavus, CO for HAVOC Squad,” he said. “This is Lieutenant Jorgan, and that’s – ”

“Cress Va’Shann,” she finished, nodding at him. “We met this morning.”

“She saved my life in the village,” Cress said. “And took out that air cannon.”

Tavus’ expression remained neutral, but she could see a shift in his eyes as he began reappraising her. 

“Seems like we owe you a debt, Miss…?”

“Mira Kahl,” she replied. “And much as I love the gratitude, I'm afraid I have bad news. I snuck into Mannett Point this afternoon - don't worry about why. But while I was there, I saw some of the hardware the seps have.”

“Did you see a bomb?” Cress asked urgently. “It would have been under heavy guard.”

She shook her head. “I was in a ventilation duct,” she said. “Very limited field of vision. But I saw enough.”

She described the hardware she had observed. Jorgan whistled.

“Sounds like our separatist friends are getting outside aid,” he commented. “If we can take her word for it.”

His tone was brusque, and his expression made clear that he wouldn’t have taken her word if she’d told him it was nighttime.

“Forget my word," Mira snapped. "Take my pictures.”

She pulled out her PADD, brought up the photos she had taken. Jorgan and Tavus looked at the images, exchanged a glance.

“May we make a copy of this data?” Tavus asked. The question was a mere pleasantry. Had Mira refused, they would have confiscated it anyway.

“Of course," she said. "While you're at it, make sure you copy the specs of the island that are in there. They aren't 100% up to date, but they're good enough. Oh, and so you know - security is very lax.”

She described the perimeter, and how easy it had been for her to slip through.

“I wouldn’t count on it staying that sloppy,” Jorgan remarked. He eyed the image of the Walker and the air cannons. “This wasn’t scavenged by homegrown terrorists. They’re getting help from outside.” He glanced at Tavus. “And I think we both know who has to be giving it.”

Tavus said nothing, but it was obvious even to Mira how troubled the captain was.

***

The sun was just starting to rise as Canlyn and her friends reached the summit of the Tythonian mountains. She caught her breath as she saw the first rays of dawn settle onto the mountain path, bathing the painstakingly-restored shrine of the Great Forge in light.

“No sign of Nalen,” Ashara observed. “I think we beat him here.”

“No scent, no track,” Qyzen confirmed. “Small hunters have won this race.”

Canlyn refused to make any assumptions. Nalen and Calief could be lying in wait, masking their presence. 

“Let us be mindful,” she said.

The shrine of the Great Forge was actually a very small space, a chamber designed for a single person. Canlyn entered as her friends stood guard. The room was empty, save for the Force crystals sprinkled around, waiting for a padawan to claim.

She probed the area with her senses. Nothing. It was as Rajivari had said – The advantage of knowing her destination had offset Nalen’s head start.

Probably not by much, however. There was no time to waste. Even if she was still a padawan, not yet at the end of her training, she would need to build a lightsaber.

“This will require all my concentration,” she told her friends. “Would you two please watch out for me?”

“Like you have to ask?” Ashara replied, unhesitantly.

Qyzen agreed. “Make your weapon. You have earned. No one shall disturb you.”

Canlyn knelt. She drew out the hilt of the First Blade and separated it from its casing. She lay the two pieces on the floor in front of her. She closed her eyes and meditated, selecting the crystal for her lightsaber. 

This was a sacred part of the ritual. The color of the crystal that powered a Jedi’s lightsaber was as personal and significant as the blade itself. Blue crystals, the most common, represented the physical level of The Force. Master Caecinius wielded a blade of blue. Yellow crystals, such as the one that powered Master Syo’s lightsaber, pointed to a balance between combat and scholarship. Green crystals were the rarest. Green represented the mysteries of The Force. To choose that color was to declare a dedication to the endless exploration of truth.

Canlyn opened her eyes. An emerald crystal floated before her. She had not specifically willed it, but somehow her mind had pulled it to her. As soon as she saw the color, she felt its rightness.

The next stage was the most difficult. She could not push the components together. She must only nudge, suggest, and leave The Force to bind them or not, as it willed.

The pieces hovered in midair. A thin strand of electricity emerged from the crystal, tentatively exploring the hilt. Another electric web shot to the outer casing. The three floated together, as if in some kind of mating dance. Gradually, they came together. The crystal slid over the hilt, then the casing over it all. Sparks engulfed the whole, then faded.

Where there had been three objects, there was now only one. Canlyn grasped the hilt and rose, activating it. She emerged from the shrine into the early morning air, raising the blade high above her head, pointing it directly at the sky. What had been the Hilt of the First Blade was now her own lightsaber. An expression of her will through The Force, and The Force’s through her.

Ashara gaped, awed in spite of herself. “Lyn. You – ”

Whatever she was about to say, she did not get the chance. A curved stick connected with her head, and she slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Nalen Raloch stood a few meters down the path, the slumped form of Qyzen at his feet. He approached the shrine, pausing at the steps below Canlyn.

“Fitting that it’s you,” he said. “Armed with the last lightsaber this Forge will ever make.”

Canlyn reached out to him with her left hand, palm open, claws retracted. An offering of peace.

“Nalen,” she said. “Your must sense that your power is destroying you. There is still time to save yourself.”

“Go ahead and talk, Jedi,” the Twi’lek sneered. “That’s all you do, isn’t it? Talk, and nod, and preach, and do nothing while the Flesh Raiders ravage our home!” He reached for his hunter’s axe. “I know Rajivari’s secrets,” he spat. “Only I can protect my people. Our village, our families, our future!”

“How is this helping your people?” Canlyn demanded. “Think of Allia. She’s worried for you, Nalen. She does not want this.”

“I did this for Allia!” he shouted. “I did this for all of them! They can’t see the danger you Jedi pose, but I can.”

“How does this protect them? How will destroying this Forge weaken the Flesh Raiders? How will it make your people safe?”

Nalen’s eyes darted about in confusion. “It will make sense when you’re dead,” he said. But the certainty in his tone was gone.

Canlyn stepped toward him, deactivating her lightsaber.

“What are you doing?” Nalen growled, raising his axe again. “Raise your weapon. Fight me!”

“No.” She took another step. “I believe you are a good man. You have been scarred by the losses you have endured, but still you work to fortify your village, making it a little safer from the Flesh Raiders each month.”

He was shaking now. As she moved toward him, he backed away.

“My people must be safe,” he insisted. “My people die, and the Jedi do nothing! My matriarch supplicates herself to your Council, begs for aid, and still the Jedi do nothing!”

Canlyn returned the hilt to her belt, held up both hands. “If the Jedi have wronged you, I am sorry,” she said.

She saw instantly that her words had not been well chosen.

“ _If?_ ” he snarled, raising his axe again. “I have seen Flesh Raiders carrying off our children! I have found their bones in their camps, gnawed by their teeth! _If?_ "

Canlyn held his gaze. Slowly, she knelt before him.

“What are you doing?” Nalen demanded, taking another step back. “What Jedi trickery is this?”

“Revenge is the path to the Dark Side,” she said calmly. “But if you must have revenge, then take it on me. I will not fight.”

Nalen raised his axe. His hands shook. He stared at her, and she met his gaze calmly. 

He lowered the axe, then fell to his own knees beside her. 

“I just want my people to be safe!” He buried his head in his hands and began to weep.

Another voice sounded from behind him. A harsh, scornful voice.

“Coward! Kill her! Kill her and destroy this monument to Jedi weakness!”

A man approached. A human. He wore Jedi robes, but held a lightsaber that was a deep red. He raised a hand to Nalen, and blue lightning shot out. The Twi'lek screamed as he was struck, thrashed on the ground.

“Worm,” the man growled.

Canlyn jumped between the lightning and Nalen, raising a hand to reflect it back at the attacker. The lightning stopped immediately, leaving her and the man mere feet apart, facing each other.

“Calief, I presume,” she said.

He bowed mockingly. “It is well that you know your executioner. Don’t bother sharing your own name, Jedi. I will not remember it.”

He lunged. Canlyn barely activated her lightsaber in time to parry the blow, then dodged another by the merest whisker.

She mentally placed herself back on the training grounds. She recalled Master Caecinius’ lessons. _“Don’t stop moving!”_ She put herself in motion, circling around Calief, studying for weak spots.

“Your form is textbook,” Calief complimented, as she parried another slash.

Master Caecinius’ voice again. “ _Commit to your assault… In genuine combat, you cannot afford to hold back._ ” She saw an opening and took it, pushing forward with all her strength. Calief was forced to back away as she dealt a series of hard slashes. She lunged, and he cried out as her saber slashed his side.

Calief stared at the injury. Then he grinned. “What do you know? The cat has claws.” 

He ducked low and ran at her, headbutting her in the stomach. She was sent reeling back, gasping for air. She only barely held onto her blade.

Calief rushed in, delivering a cyclone of blows. She managed to parry, but the effort left her drained. She was down on one knee, holding his blade at bay with her own. 

His free hand came down on the side of her head, a hard punch that knocked her flat to the ground. She lost her grip on her lightsaber. She watched as it rolled away. 

Calief stood over her, his own blade in hand.

“You are weak, like the rest of the Jedi,” he said. “We will reshape the Order, make it strong.”

“Rajivari believed the same,” Canlyn gasped. “Like him, you will fail.”

He raised his blade to deliver the death blow. Canlyn forced herself to keep her eyes open, determined to face the moment of her death.

The moment did not come. Instead, there was a flash of blue. Then slowly, almost agonizingly, Calief’s head slid from his shoulders. There was no blood. The wound had been cauterized even as it was inflicted. 

“What – ?”

Master Caecinius stood over her, the bold blue of his lightsaber crackling.

He deactivated the weapon and held his hand out to Canlyn, pulled her to her feet.

“Collect your weapon, Jedi,” he instructed. She remembered her dropped lightsaber. She reached out a hand, and it leapt to her. She returned the blade to her belt.

Her mind tried to form one of a thousand questions. Where had he come from? How had he known to look for her? Nothing coherent emerged, but he sensed her confusion and explained.

“When you reported your destination to Master Yuon, she immediately updated the Council. And speeders are faster than walking” 

He had brought a med team with him. Behind him, Canlyn could see them tending to both Ashara and Qyzen. 

No one was checking on Nalen.

Canlyn turned away from Caecinius, going to the Twi'lek hunter. He still lay on the ground, his breathing ragged. She knelt at his side, checking his injuries. She had stopped Calief's lightning quickly, and the physical harm was superficial. Still, he continued to twitch and sob.

“I think his mind is broken,” Caecinius said. His voice sounded cold, dismissive.

Canlyn felt the unwelcome anger rise again.

“He is our responsibility,” she insisted. “Calief may have molded him into a weapon against us, but we were the ones who ignored his village. We were the ones who put out an artifact we knew might be unsafe. We committed the first sins!”

Caecinius was obviously unconvinced, but he was not inclined to argue the point.

“We will bring him back with us,” he said. “The Council will decide what to do from there.”

He activated his transmitter and called for a shuttle to pick them up. Canlyn stayed by Nalen’s side until it arrived, and remained with him until they landed at the Temple. Only when she could see the medics taking him for treatment did she allow Master Caecinius to lead her away.


	8. The Meaning of the Code

Korriban. Another day of tests and Trials. Another day both Arkarix Krell and Reyenna Desme had survived.

He grinned as he sparred with her in the Sith Academy's exercise area. Since their encounter at the Tomb of Marka Ragnos, they had developed a mutually beneficial arrangement. She had innate Force strength, but lacked training. He provided assistance with swordsmanship and with basic Sith philosophy, and she proved to be a quick study in both areas. She would never be his equal – But the next time she got into a duel, she would be able to do a lot more than just hack away like a woodcutter chopping a tree.

For her part, Reyenna showed him that he actually enjoyed teaching, and that he had some skill at it. He felt a rush of satisfaction as he watched her progress. After each practice session, they would go back to the dormitory. There, she became the teacher, revealing the earthier pleasures he had denied himself during his years devoting himself to study. Her creativity was boundless, and they explored new variations with each encounter. In some respects, he felt he had learned more about the true nature of the Dark Side from her than from any of his paid instructors.

They grinned at each other as they sparred, and he could feel his anticipation rising for tonight. Which made him doubly angry when a new acolyte came running up to them.

“Acolyte Krell!” His obvious nervousness did nothing to ease Krell’s irritation. “Overseer Tremel sent me. He said it’s a matter of urgency!”

“It always is,” Krell sighed. He gave Reyenna a look of regret. “I'm afraid we'll have to end our lesson here. I will come to you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Her eyes sparkled. He felt another rush of anticipation, and a renewed sense of irritation at the acolyte.

The young man started to show him to Tremel’s office. “I know the way!” Krell snapped. The young man fled.

Overseer Tremel was not alone. With him was a large man in full body armor. His face was covered by metal, the facial features painted in, resembling nothing so much as a death mask. One of the man’s eyes was fully covered. The remaining eye glared balefully out from behind the mask.

Both men saw him enter, but they did not interrupt their argument.

“You refuse to see it, Baras!” Tremel declared. “The Sith are in danger of becoming as decadent as the Jedi. The red markings of true Sith are rare. Measures must be taken if they are to retain control!”

“You are a fanatic, Tremel,” Baras’ voice matched his size, a deep bass that Krell could almost feel across the room. “A human so enamored of Sith blood that you look down upon your own. The Sith species will fade, as all species do. What matters is that the teachings endure.”

“The blood and teachings are one and the same!”

“Enough!” Baras thundered. Tremel went silent, cowed by the Sith Lord’s fury. 

Baras turned to Krell.

“Arkarix Krell,” he announced. “Our argument, personified. Pure Sith blood, so strong in The Force that I could feel you before you even received my summons. Enormous potential." He directed a glare at Tremel. "Potential that has been squandered.”

Baras moved toward Krell, the heaviness of his armor belied by the ease of his step. 

“I am Darth Baras. I have come from Dromund Kaas. Do you know why?”

“No, my Lord,” Kress said. 

He stood still, like a soldier at attention as the Dark Lord circled him, evaluating him with his one good eye.

“The beast you killed in the Tomb of Marka Ragnos? It was suffused with the Dark Side. Its death created a tremor in The Force. It was that which brought me here.”

Tremel’s eyes were downcast. Clearly, the overseer had misjudged that particular test.

“Show me your warblade,” Baras ordered.

Krell unsheathed the blade, stretched it out to him.

“No, acolyte. Activate it. I would see it in your hands.”

Krell activated the blade, and its dark energy crackled in the air.

“Yes,” Baras said. “It is as I suspected.” He began ticking off the various Trials that Tremel had set for him. “Your warblade came early – all but given to you as a gift, while other acolytes make do with practice blades. Prisoners were flown in for your convenience. You were even set to slay a beast here on Korriban itself, when it should have been an offworld hunt in the wild.”

Baras turned back to Tremel.

“The pacing of the Trials is deliberate,” he snapped. “Only full immersion over time produces results. This acolyte’s blood may be pure, but his mind is soft, unhoned, undisciplined!”

He turned back to Krell.

“Recite the Sith Code, acolyte!”

Krell raised his head high and spoke the words dutifully. 

_“Peace is a lie. There is only passion._

_Through passion, I gain strength;_

_Through strength, I gain power;_

_Through power, I gain victory;_

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

_The Force shall free me.”_

Baras mocked him. “You recite empty words. Like a child who has committed his first poem to memory, you know the phrases but do not comprehend the meaning. Allow me to show it to you.”

He looked to Tremel, who sat like a condemned man awaiting sentence.

“Overseer Tremel,” Baras declared, “your unwillingness to adapt to the evolving Sith paradigm has become a liability. Your actions are those of a traitor. Arkarix Krell – Kill him!”

All color had drained from Tremel’s face. Still, he rose to his feet, stepping out from behind his desk. He did not flinch, nor even close his eyes, as Krell brought the warblade down upon him.

Baras and Krell stood over the crumpled body. 

“He died well,” Baras acknowledged. “He was always a man of courage.”

He turned to Krell. 

“You struck down your Master, your benefactor, a man who treated you like his own family. Tell me, acolyte. How do you feel?”

Krell felt energized. His Sith blood delighted in the kill, and his blade called for still more blood. It was only with difficulty that he deactivated the weapon and re-sheathed it.

“I feel... powerful," he admitted.

Baras nodded his approval. “Savor it," he said. "Not every kill will be as meaningful." Baras extended his arms wide. "You have taken your first step to understanding the Sith Code:

_Peace is a lie. There is only passion._

_Through passion, I gain strength;_

_Through strength, I gain power;_

_Through power, I gain victory;_

_Through victory, my chains are broken!”_

The phrases boomed out, full of feeling, a weight of meaning behind every word. Krell felt moved to recite along, his baritone mingling with Baras’ bass into a single roar of fury and passion.

Baras took a heavy breath as he finished. He gazed at Krell, his good eye showing something resembling approval.

“There may be potential in you after all,” he said. “Return to your studies, Acolyte. I will remain on Korriban, to oversee the rest of your training personally. To see if we can overcome your false start and mold you into a true Sith. For now, you are dismissed.”

“My Lord.”

Krell bowed deeply to his new Master.

His passions were running high, and demanded on outlet. He went in search of Reyenna. Tonight, he would be more than her student. He would take the lead, and she would follow. He would release his passions, and bend her to his will.

He was Sith.

  
**NEXT: BETRAYALS**


End file.
